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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157744">Not By Design</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/relevancylost/pseuds/relevancylost'>relevancylost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Check Please! (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Infidelity, Light Angst, M/M, also there is a little, and Bitty is an interior designer, at the beginning but not too much hopefully, in that Kent and Jack don't know each other, light dom/sub if you squint maybe, mention of injury, zimbits is also background but like not in a fun way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:21:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,475</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157744</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/relevancylost/pseuds/relevancylost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was younger, Eric used to wonder what could possibly make a person want to cheat. Now that he's grown up, he has a much better idea.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Kent "Parse" Parson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not By Design</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi y'all, </p>
<p>This is my first time writing in the Check, Please! fandom and my first time back writing fanfic at all in like six years so, uh, go easy on me and I hope you like it? </p>
<p>I'm bored during quarantine and the end of this comic has got me feeling a lot of feelings which must be turned into fanfiction apparently.</p>
<p>Also this is un-beta-ed so if you see any mistakes or have any suggestions feel free.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eric remembers exactly how it felt to be 15, uncomfortable, on the couch with his Mama watching two people who weren’t supposed to be kissing on their TV.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He never understood why it was happening. It always seemed so inevitable, the way they played it on those late-night shows, two people who were never in love but drawn together somehow, drawn away from the people they were <em> supposed </em> to be with. Like a satellite in a decaying orbit. But he always felt like he was watching something that should be fast-forwarded through, or wanted to cover his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He always thought <em> I would never do that. I could never cheat on someone. I don’t even understand how it happens. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He just didn’t know how, if you loved somebody, you could <em> hurt </em> them like that. If you loved them enough you’d be happy forever. You wouldn’t want anyone else, right? And if you didn’t, you should break up with them before it ever got that far.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s grown up a lot since then.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now, at 25, he's intimately familiar with the exact amount of love that you needed, a love that was more like a memory of something better that you were still hoping you could salvage the scraps of and repair. You’d put golden joins in the broken ceramics, if only you could find all of the pieces. He know exactly about all of the promises, the commitments, the expectations, that hold you together despite all of the cracks and missing pieces. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That’s how you end up with one foot in the door and one foot somewhere you never expected to be, and it was nothing like those shows on TV.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>_____</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eric meets him for the first time at a party. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>At his own party, sort of. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Because, well, interior design for event spaces inside hockey stadiums isn’t exactly what he and Mama had <em> planned </em> on doing when they got into the business but one doesn’t just turn down nepotism. And a lot of money. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The party isn’t really to show off their work, not by name anyway, but it was the first event in the new space. And there are a hell of a lot more people coming up to him with their oh-what-a-wonderful-jobs than there were coming up to that poor hockey rookie who all of this was ostensibly for. He’d won some sort of small, team-wide award, nothing like a Calder or anything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rookie isn’t standing next to Bad Bob Zimmerman like Eric is, though that is only part of the difference in appeal. Eric is probably more famous than your average rookie at this point after- everything- with Jack. And the rookie looks so uncomfortable in his starched shirt and badly-tailored suit that it's bleeding out into the air. Lord, someone needs to teach these rookies how to spend the money in those big contracts properly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eric is hanging around next to Mama and Alicia and Bob and making small talk with the sponsors and hockey players who come up to them and wondering why Jack’s not here, even though really, he already knows.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He said he’d come, though. <em> Promised.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eric knows it’s been hard for him, since the injury. At one point he’d thought they were going to have to get married on the ice and he’d have gladly done it to make Jack happy, but now he won’t even go near the stadium anymore. And nothing seems to make him happy. Eric still has the ring on his finger, but he twists it nervously and wonders if they’re even still going to get married every time they talk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Jack had seemed… excited for him, finally, when he talked about the work he’d been doing renovating this place. His smile had been small, but it had been genuine. And Eric hadn’t even told him, yet, about the wall upstairs full of old and new photos and memorabilia; the history of hockey in this town through the ages from long before the team was even established to the present day. Eric had <em> researched. </em>He’d hoped Jack would be proud.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Jack had <em> promised  </em>to come.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eric realizes that the woman in front of him has been talking to them for at least two minutes without his input. Mama is carrying on the conversation just fine, so he tips back the last of his glass of champagne and drops it onto the table behind him before saying quietly in her ear, “Mama, I’m heading upstairs, I need a minute.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She pats him gently on the arm and continues her conversation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He walks up the right-side staircase to the upper half-level and is immediately calmer. There are tables set up here, but no people. No one he needs to pretend to be okay in front of. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Except, as he walks further back into the room and turns around a column, he discovers he wasn’t quite alone. A blond man is studiously reading the description on one of the little placards below an image. He jumps up, startled and looking almost guilty as Eric starts speaking behind him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s a picture of the first LGBT+ hockey team in Providence. They formed just last year, right after me n’ Jack-” -<em> after we came out </em> . He wants to say it, but the words got stuck in his throat. Coming out meant incredible things for all these people, but for him and for <em> Jack </em> , it meant cameras and questions. It meant slurs and harder hits on the ice, and one of those harder hits leading to an injury, though nobody in the league was even willing to <em> speculate </em> about it being intentional. And the injury leading to- well, Jack being how he is now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he just says, “They play other teams from Boston and New York and their games are a whole lotta fun. You should check it out some time.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The blond man says, “I- yeah. That sounds great,” and he turns around, and Eric’s first thought is <em> Oh, good Lord, he’s beautiful </em> followed by <em> Oh, he’s the new trade coming in from the Aces… Kent Parson? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> “So Mr. Parson,” Eric says, and can’t help but notice the way Kent’s face falls just a little, almost like he didn’t want to be recognized, “I’m up here because my head’s already full of so much small talk I think it might explode. What’s your excuse?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, I can- uh- leave you alone and head back down to the party if you’d rather not talk to anyone-” Kent is saying, and turning, and Eric had to reach out a hand to grab his arm to stop him. He whips around, surprised again. Damn it, Eric <em> likes </em> that look on him, with those grey eyes and that tan skin and freckles. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re fine, sweetheart. I know we’ve hardly said five words to each other and all, but I get the feeling you’re the kind of person who’s definitely not exhausting to talk to.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eric doesn’t exactly know how it happens, but they end up talking for hours about practically nothing. They’re sitting on the <em> floor </em> , of all places, because of course the planners went for those stupid tall cocktail tables without chairs that are supposed to encourage mingling or networking or whatever. And even though he thinks his right leg is asleep and his suit pants were never meant for sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce, he’s so comfortable here with <em> Kent </em>that he hates it when he hears the voices starting to wind down downstairs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think the party’s wrappin’ up, sweetheart.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh yeah, I guess- I guess we should go.” And he looks so much like a kicked puppy that Eric’s heart breaks a little. It’s the exact opposite of the Kent Parson™ TV smirk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eric springs up to his feet and bounces in place, trying to get a feeling back into his toes other than numb pins-and-needles so he can actually walk, “You know, you never actually answered my question earlier.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Which one was that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s your excuse for bein’ up here in the first place?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh. I uh- I’m not really friends with any of the guys yet, and I don’t know the sponsors, and this isn’t really the type of party where you really get to know people so I just kinda. Ran up here and hid.” And that didn’t sound like the media Kent Parson at all, but it did sound a whole lot like the man Eric had been talking to for the past few hours. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well honey,” he says, and bit the inside of his cheek, making a decision, “I think you got to know at least one person at this party. Give me your phone so I can give you my number.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Kent Parson just wordlessly <em> hands over his phone </em> to Eric. Eric enters his phone number and texts himself with it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “There. Now we’re friends, and you have my number, so let me know if you need anything, or want to hang out, or, well, <em> anything. </em>” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eric doesn’t even know what he meant by that last anything. Kent just nods, and might even be blushing a little, but Eric really can’t tell. Won’t let himself be able to tell.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll head down first, I’ve gotta find my Mama,” he says, <em> like we were doin’ somethin’ wrong up here all this time and have to throw off suspicion </em> . Well, he supposes, it is suspicious to talk to a man who’s not your fiance for hours. Even if they weren’t doing anything. Lord, he has a <em> fiance </em>. The past three hours were the first time he’d actually forgotten about Jack for that long in forever. He’d kind of loved it, and kind of hated himself for how much he’d loved it. He wants to do it again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He checks his face in his phone camera, searching for evidence of- <em> What? We didn’t do anything. Nothing happened. - </em>of something before he walks downstairs. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He comes up next to his Mama and she says, “Oh there you are, Dickey, I’ve been wondering where you ran off to.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He laughs and replies, “Oh you know, just makin’ the rounds, Mama. Checkin’ out our work.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She laughs too, and no one is looking at him. No one has noticed how long he’s been gone. He thinks he’s the only one who’s watching, intently, as Kent Parson walks down the other staircase a few minutes later.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>_____</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gets the messages the very next day. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They’re working all day at a job all the way across town, hardly stopping for lunch. He never would have been able to do it back in college, but Eric’s has his personal phone off and shoved into his back pocket all day. It isn’t until later, when they’re all sitting around on various too-expensive pieces of furniture, taking a break and admiring their handiwork, that he even has a chance to check it. They buzz in a few seconds apart. He nearly drops his phone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s incredibly glad he’s in a chair in the corner and not sprawled on the couch with his head on his Mama’s lap like he is sometimes. He knows she likes to read over his shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Kent</b>
</p>
<p>
  <em> this is going be way too forward </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> i mean, you’re engaged. everyone knows you’re engaged </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> and i’m probably destroying every chance i ever had of friendship with you but </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I feel like we really connected last night and i really like you so </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> do you maybe want to come over tonight and get takeout and watch netflix and… fuck me? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Then, a few minutes after the others: </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> oh my god i can’t believe i convinced myself sending that was a good idea please just ignore all of that and let me die </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Eric feels the flush creeping onto his face but he <em> cannot </em> react right now, he's surrounded by people. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The messages were sent three hours ago. He suddenly feels like they’ve been burning a hole in his pocket without him even knowing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s thinking a mile a minute, brain racing over how wrong it would be to do this. Kent knows, he <em> knows </em> that Eric’s engaged, but he sent all that anyway. And Eric realizes that, at least from how it feels in this moment, he’s never wanted anything this badly in his entire life. And any feeling of wrongness or guilt? Pales in comparison to that. He just doesn’t <em> care. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>His fingers are shaking a little as he types out his reply.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me </b>
</p>
<p><em> Sorry, I just saw this… Is the offer still on the table </em> 😳🙈 <em> ? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>It takes an agonizing few minutes before his text is read and a reply is sent. The text just reads <em> god, yes </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bitty texts back <em> immediately. </em></p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I can’t believe how much I want you </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Kent</b>
</p>
<p>
  <em> i can't wait to see you again </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> come over literally whenever </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> [address] </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> oh, you're not allergic to cats, right? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I'll be over ASAP </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I love cats </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Kent</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> you have excellent taste </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bitty hopes to <em> god </em>his voice doesn't sound as hot and bothered as he feels when he says,"Mama? Mind if we wrap things up and head out? A friend wants to meet me for dinner."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's not <em> technically </em> a lie. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh Dicky, that’s fine. You can go ahead and head out early, we're mostly cleaned up already anyway." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Thanks, Mama," he says, as he goes up and kisses her on the cheek. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He walks quickly out of the room and it's only by sheer force of will that he doesn't start sprinting on his way to the parking garage. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once there, he's faced with a dilemma. Does he go straight to Kent's or does he go home to shower and change first? He needs to, but that wastes extra time. And, there's the very real danger of Jack being there. He seems like he’s always there lately.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the end, a sniff at an armpit makes him decide to risk it so he drives towards home, left knee bouncing up and down with nervous energy the whole way. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jack isn't home, so that's one crisis averted, and Bitty brushes his teeth and takes the fastest shower of his <em> life </em>without even singing any pop songs before he's back off again on his car and on his way to Kent's.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Oh my god. I'm really doing this. This is really happening. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>_____</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His brain goes a little fuzzy with the details of arriving at Kent’s apartment, finding parking, talking to the doorman and getting buzzed up. It may have taken 20 minutes, or two. Or no time at all. All that matters is he got there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kent opens the door in a tight gray t-shirt, basketball shorts, and a snapback over hair that was still wet from the shower, and all Eric can think is that he looks <em> beautiful, </em>even more than the night before in a suit and tie.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Hi." Eric says, a little breathless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Hi." Kent replies, smiling wide and crooked and stepping to the side so that Eric can come in before closing the door behind him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suddenly, they’re only a foot away from each other, which is way too close to not be touching, and Kent is <em> looking at him </em> like that so Eric puts a light hand behind Kent’s neck and draws him down into a kiss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kissing Kent is <em> magnificent </em>. It immediately deepens into something dirty and passionate, with tongues moving against each other and arms wrapped tightly around Kent just to hold him a little closer, establish a little more contact. Kent tastes just slightly like peppermint so he must've just brushed his teeth before Eric came over here and the thought that they'd both had the exact same ideas made Eric chuckle a little.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eric can  <em> feel </em> more than hear the answering laugh from Kent's chest and he <em> loves </em> it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He reaches up a hand to grab a handful of damp, dirty blond hair and gently yanks Kent's head to the side for better access to that wicked sharp jawline and the soft, pliant skin beneath it. He is <em> delighted </em> with the moan that action produced, and doesn't that just fill him with ideas.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Hickeys?" He asks hopefully, already running his lips over the pulse point on Kent's neck. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Y-yeah. Go for it. The guys will chirp me to hell and back but I- <em> god </em>- love them."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Halfway through the sentence Eric is already sucking what he <em> knows </em> will be a deep purple mark into the side of Ken’t neck. He'll look at it later and want to press his fingers into the mark. He'll look at and think <em> mine </em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Shut up brain, not yours, but let's unpack that later when there's not an incredibly hot guy falling apart because of you. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Because Kent's moans are getting louder and he's hard and pressing needily against Eric, who's hard too, how could he not be? And then Eric tugs his hair harder and Kent's knees actually buckle a little and Eric has to catch him, and <em> Oh my god I did that to him </em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"We should… move this to the couch," Eric says, and Kent makes a hum of agreement, but it seems like an impossible task. Even though the couch is only 15 goddamn feet away it means they’ll have to stop touching each other for five seconds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eric finally gets up the will power and then drags Kent over to the couch by his hand. It looks surprisingly cushy for all that it's some modernist leather affair. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eric, just a little bit roughly, turns Kent around and shoves him down onto the couch on his back before climbing over him and straddling his lap. Kent looks exactly how Eric feels- wide-eyed and flushed and painfully turned on. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eric <em> has </em> to lean over and kiss him. He slowly and deliberately grinds his erection down against Kent's and swallows the delicious sweet noises he makes in response. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He revels in it. Jack was- <em> is </em> never this vocal. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suddenly, Eric has an excellent idea. He twists his fingers through Kent's own and swiftly brings both of Kent's hands up above his head, pressing down with all of his weight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kent <em> gasps. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh my god."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"This okay?" Eric asks, because, <em> Lord, </em> it's not like they'd had any discussion beforehand like normal people.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"More than. God- please- just don't stop."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Kent is squirming up against him, eyes looking a little glassy, and Eric could never say no to that even if he wanted to. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>So Eric goes back to kissing him, then trying to leave another hickey on his neck but he can't even <em> concentrate </em>because they feel so good moving up against each other, too-much and not-enough friction at the same time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he switches so he's holding both of Kent's pliant wrists under one hand so he can get the other one up under Kent's tight grey t-shirt and feel that plane of solid abs and work his way up so he can brush a thumb over Kent's nipple and hear</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"God- yes- <em> Eric-" </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He's suddenly struck by the absurdity of the fact that they're both fully dressed; that he's going to come in his pants like he's a freaking teenager and it's going to be maybe the hottest thing Eric's ever experienced.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Kent's has switched from words to entirely gasps and moans and his hips are stuttering and Eric knows he's <em> so close </em> and so is Eric so he says "Come for me, sweetpea," and Kent <em> does </em>. His whole body shudders but his wrists don't move from Eric's light grip. A few seconds later, Eric comes too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He releases Kent's wrists and they lay forehead to forehead on the couch, panting. Kent's eyes looked grey yesterday day, but now they're a warm hazel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a few minutes, Eric starts. "Well, that was…"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Amazing? Incredible? <em> Ace?" </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh! Quiet, you! But yeah, it was." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Not that I'm complaining or anything, but I thought we were doing dinner and Netflix first?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You overestimate my willpower if you thought I could keep my hands off you with you lookin' like <em> that." </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, see something you like?" Kent gestures at himself. He’s a study in contrasts; he’s got his freckles and wide, innocent eyes, but his hair is a disaster <em> clearly </em>from sex, his lips are red and bitten, the hickeys are already turning darker against his tan neck, and his shirt is still ridden up revealing those washboard abs. If Eric was still 15 he might get hard again already.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Clearly I do."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well," Kent says, looking thoughtful, "you haven't technically fucked me yet, so we can still do the whole Netflix and chill thing before <em> that </em>. Oh! And you haven't met my cat! We probably scared her off earlier with… everything."</p>
<p><br/>Eric thought <em> Lord, this boy </em> and knew right then and there he was in trouble.</p>
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